Chapter 4

“Winterfell ahead, my Lord.”

I looked back to the window of the coach, the soft summer snow falling onto my head, sending a small shiver across my skin. Harren had stuck his head out of the coach window, his soft golden hair nearly pale enough to blend in with blanketed landscape around us.

He quickly escaped back into the semi-warmth of the coach; I was reminded for the umpteenth time that Harren had never seen a true winter in the Riverlands. The snow around us must have seemed utterly foreign to him.

It was still hard for the small group of twenty guards to get their bearings here. I was the only one of us with some experience in the North, my parents having traveled through the harsh lands in search of trade during my childhood.

Doubtful any of them expected to find themselves so far from home, and that it would be for nearly two long years was hard for some of the men to swallow.

Lady Whent had made clear her concerns for Harren’s health after her husband’s passing nearly a year ago. He had become increasingly withdrawn after Lord Whent died, and then there were the more… “peculiar” moments, that were starting to draw concern.

Harren had been caught more than once talking to thin air, as if having a conversation with a person obscured to all around.

At first, we had all thought he’d created imaginary friends to deal with Lord Whent’s passing, and while that could be overlooked on account of his age, the various experiments he learned from those books were drawing attention.

It was no secret among the servants and guards of Harrenhal that our new lord was…unique. As a babe, he would cry, and all the toys and lose objects in the room would be flung about. Or he would want something and no adult was either willing to give to him or had their attention elsewhere, and it would suddenly fly into his arms.

The “oddities”, as the residents of Harrenhal had taken to calling them, had reduced after the Maester had begun teaching him his letters. The old heavy tomes he began hauling everywhere, even to this frozen land, seemed to have taught him a degree of control.

Unfortunately, it also seemed to teach him how to do other things with whatever it was.

A tipping point had come when he turned a patch of scorched and melted stone on the castle walls back to its original state. While those who had gotten used to it were in awe, when words spread to the people of Harrentown, they quickly grew fearful of their new “possessed” Lord.

Three thousand terrified smallfolk were not to be easily dismissed, empty as their concerns may be.

I have every confidence that they would learn to love their new lord in time, but they needed to be eased into it. So, between wanting to give the people some time to cool their fears, and the increasingly isolated behavior of Harren, Lady Whent felt it necessary to remove him from the castle for a short time.

Though I think there was another reason behind it as well, Lord Stark had two sons and a ward near Harren’s age. Lady Whent was likely hoping that some friends would help draw our young lord out of his shell.

The children in Harrenhal and Harrentown were all either afraid of him for this title, or their parents had warned them away because of his talents.

Lady Catelyn and Lord Stark had done us a great kindness in agreeing to foster Harren in Winterfell for a short while. Lady Catelyn had been exchanging letters with the Lady Whent, and sometimes, even Harren.

At least it seemed to have done him some good to be reminded that he had extended family out there. Perhaps spending some time among them would waste the young lord from his grief. We all missed the outgoing, if bookish, child he had once been.

Try as I might escaping these thoughts proved difficult, the lands of the North, while beautiful, too often inspired a certain level of introspection that felt altogether unhealthy.

As we drew closer the sun set the roofs of Winter Town glittering.

The decent-sized city that was built up outside the front of Winterfell, houses running more than even the length of the castle walls as they spread out over the vast snowy plains. A city this size must house nearly twenty thousand people…how do the Starks feed them all come winter?

The people looked at us oddly as we passed through along the Kingsroad, the cleared path cutting through the heart of the Winter Town and leading to the main gate. I heard a few mutterings about southrons, but for the most part the only action anyone took was to move out of the way of our horses, or for the children running about, trying to see who was in the coach.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

It had an entirely different feel from the cities I had visited before. Kings Landing reeked of shit and the people often bled desperation. Lannisport was the personification of shameless gratification, a living temple to all that the Seven held wrong in man’s nature.

Harrentown…it was as bleak as its ruinous namesake.

We road through to open gates of the inner and outer walls, and spotted a small group in the middle of the courtyard. While a few of the men looked to be Winterfell guards, the tall, grim-faced man, standing next to a lad with auburn hair, could only be Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

“Lord Stark” I bowed my head briefly to the man, “I am Sir Orsan, Knight of Harrenhal, I am to serve as head of Lord Whent’s personal guard.”

Lord Stark only nods, “Well met Sir Orsan, you’ve made decent time up the Neck. I trust there were no issues along the way?”

“None my Lord, the journey was safe enough, given the route traveled.” With greetings exchanged, I dismounted and went to open the coach for Harren, as I opened it I could see him sitting with his ear to the door. I had to bite back a snicker at the antics, he might be a Lord, but he was still more a child than anything else.

I grinned at him, trying to put him at ease if I could. A pair of bashful, swirling violet eyes stared back at me, Harren grimaced a bit as I moved to the side and motioned for him to exit the coach.

Harren stepped out after a bit of hesitation, it wasn’t hard to see how nervous the boy was. He shivered as the, now unblocked, northern air hit him. He pulled his bear-furred cloak tighter around himself.

I remember Lord Whent getting that for him when he was five, it would likely need replacing before we left here.

The carriage door swung shut behind him, I pretend not to see him flinch at the sound of his only escape sealing away. Harren had greeted other lords before, he had bannermen of his own after all. I’d been there in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths when they swore him fealty.

The frightened boy lord, still grieving a father, and the arrogant sneering lords, their pride wounded at having to kneel to a child they thought “not right”.

Watching in the background as he greeted Lord Stark, it was a relief when the grim-faced man’s eyes softened as Harren stumbled through a proper greeting. When the introductions were done, Lord Stark had his son, Robb I believe it was, show Harren to his rooms.

After the boys had left, the courtyard exploded into a flurry of activity. Stable hands came out and started showing my men where to stable their horses as the servants began unloading the back of the coach of the few trunks stacked there.

It was a good hour before we had all the horses and luggage settled, and even longer to get the men their places in the barracks. I was about to go see how Harren was settling when a servant arrived with a summons from Lord and Lady Stark.

***

“My Lord, my Lady” I gave a quick bow to both as I entered Lord Stark’s solar, I looked over them quickly as Lord Stark motioned for me to sit.

He was a grim man, the Quite Wolf. Dark brown hair worn down to his shoulders, his face was long, but his jaw was set in the same steel that shaded his eyes. Lady Catelyn though, was every inch the beauty the lords of the realm claimed. Hair the shade of fire, and eyes as blue as the waters of the Trident, it was not hard to see why the Riverlords were jealous of Lord Starks good fortune.

Though I wonder how many of them forget the price he paid for it.

“Take a seat if you would, Sir Orsan.” Lord Stark’s voice is like a gruff rumble, a lordly command pulling at my instincts to obey. Taking a seat on a bench across from theirs, I could feel their eyes following every movement I made. They seem horribly uneasy, not afraid or hostile, but unnerved nonetheless.

Lady Catelyn shifted slightly, seeming to search for the proper words for her own question, “My Aunt wrote that Harren was…special, and she did not mean it the way all mothers dote upon their children.”

She left the question hanging there, a thick wall of silence descending in the solar. My next words would have to be both honestly spoken, and carefully worded. Harren was no threat to their household, but the unknown always felt dangerous.

“My Lady, Harren has always been able to do things that you or I, would simply be unable to.” It felt as if I had swallowed a stone, my throat constricted and arid. Her eyes searched me over at the description, Lord Starks grim features, previously so impassive, now drawn into a frown.

“I can only describe it as magic my lady, I know that sounds like a murmurs tale, but my Lord is anything but. As a babe, he made the things within his nursery fly about when he was impatient or in want of attention. He was attacked by a hound once, shortly after his third name day. None of us were close enough to get the beast before it got to him as he toddled about after Lord Whent.”

Lady Catelyn’s eyes grew wide at this, no matter the reservations she had, he was still her kin and even still, no more than a bit of a thing.

“The beast lunged and he flung out his hands, normally that would have done nothing to a rabid hound, but in this case, the hound was thrown a good twenty yards. We could never explain it, but it likely saved the young Lord's life.” Of course, that’s leaving out the part where the hound’s neck had been snapped and its ribs crushed from the force of it.

Honestly in moderation, I would not lie, but it was not House Stark I was sworn to.

“While I am glad for the young lad’s safety, I believe what my Lady wife is truly asking Sir Orsan, is whether your Lord is going to be a danger to our own children?” Lord Stark had his eye set on mine, taking in every measure of my response.

“No, my Lord.” I can only hope they can hear how earnestly I mean it. “He is no threat to your children, just a lost boy trying desperately to find his way after losing a father far too early for any lad.”

I bowed my head then, gritting my teeth in a silent prayer to the Mother for compassion. They could easily send us all back to Harrenhal, there was little real obligation to allow Harren’s warding other than a promise they may now regret.

Words are wind after all, and what is the promise to one small lordling, too young yet to stand in his own battles.

I looked as I heard a long sigh, the grim-faced Lord Stark was still watching me like a weary wolf, but the frown marring his stone completion was gone. “Very well Sir Orsan, we will take you at your word for now.”

“Thank you, my Lord. Truly, thank you.”